


Home Again for Christmas

by clgfanfic



Category: Lethal Weapon (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post Lethal Weapon 2; learning to get by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Again for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Walkabout and later in Black Ops #4 under pen name Lynn Gill.

**December 22**

          "Hey, partner, you ready to get outta here?"

          Martin Riggs looked up from where he had been staring at the worn tiles of the hospital room floor.  Roger Murtaugh leaned on the doorhandle, a smile on his face.  Like the doctor promised, Martin was being released from the hospital before Christmas, even if it was only three days before.

          "Yeah."

          "Beep, beep," came a voice from behind the detective.

          "Oops," Roger said, pulling back to allow a pretty young nurse to enter with a wheelchair.

          "Now, no arguments, detective, just put your buns in this seat and you'll be out of here before you know it."

          "She knows you too well," Murtaugh teased, but Riggs only smiled thinly and the older detective knew something was wrong.

          Before the nurse could wheel the younger man out, Dr. Kaufman joined them.  Roger found himself holding back a smile at the man's appearance.  Short, round, with thin gray-brown curls of hair, he looked for all the world like a well-worn wind-up teddy bear, but this teddy-bear had saved his partner's life.

          "Ah, good, I wanted to catch you before you left, Martin.  Remember, watch the spicy foods and alcohol for the next few weeks.  Oh, and start a regular exercise program.  Get in contact with me if you get nauseous, light-headed, pass any blood or have any stabbing pains in the abdominal area.  Go slow and build up.  Everything looks one-hundred percent but I'm a careful man."

          "Okay," Riggs said.

          "And Martin?"

          "Yeah?"

          "Plenty of sleep, and good friends, okay?"

          "Don't you worry about that, Doctor," Roger interrupted.

          "Okay, get on out of here, and have a Merry Christmas."

          "Keys," the younger detective said when they reached the parking lot and he saw the pick-up parked there.

          "No way, Riggs," Roger said, fishing the disputed item out of the pocket of his windbreaker.  "You're can't even walk straight yet."

          "I won't be walking."

          "I know, you'll be sittin' – on the passenger side."

          "I'm fine, damn it.  Give me the keys…  Please."

          Roger studied his partner's face.  There was more to the insistence than mere possessiveness or macho.  He wasn't sure what it was, nor was he sure he should challenge it.  "I'd never have driven the thing here if I knew you'd pull something like this," he fumed half-heartedly but handed over the keys.

          "Thanks," Riggs said quietly, moving off across the driveway.

          Sam whined and pumped his tail enthusiastically while he waited for his master to open the pick-up door and slide behind the wheel.  Once Riggs was seated the dog decided the detective was fair game for a welcome home flurry of tongue, tail and happy yaps.

          "Ol' Sam really missed you," Roger said as he slid in the truck, fending off the waving shaggy tail and patting the dog on his shaggy rump.  "Burbank's still not too happy, but at least they've quit ambushin' each other."

          Riggs grinned slightly.  "Sit down, mutt," he said softly and the dog obeyed, content to lean against his master and watch through the windshield.

          "Look, Trish and the kids and I talked it over and we won't take no for an answer."

          "No?"

          "No to you staying with us 'til after Christmas."

          With his trailer destroyed, the detective had had no choice and he reluctantly accepted lodging in the Murtaugh home, agreeing to take up residency in their spare bedroom.

          Riggs slid the key into the ignition and turned.  The motor hummed alive.  He put the pick-up in gear and left the hospital behind.  Roger waited several moments before he said, "Uh, the house is that way."  He hiked a thumb over his shoulder.

          "Yeah, I know."

          "Where we goin'?"

          "The trailer."

          "Marty, there's nothing there.  You know that."

          "Maybe… I just need to look around."

          The two men walked around the gnarled black remains of the metal trailer.  Murtaugh watched as Riggs poked through the ruins, occasionally brushing away the debris to pick up something, then tossing it away.

          After two hours Martin had found three items that survived the attack and subsequent fire: Sam's dog dish, a large sea shell laminated with a photo of the Three Stooges – suitable for holding the miscellaneous junk that accumulates on top of a dresser – and the framed wedding photo of Riggs and Victoria Lynn.

          Martin tucked the three items under his arm and walked away, never once looking back.  He whistled and Sam bounded back up from the beach.  As they climbed into the pick-up truck, the dog whined and lay down on the seat, sensing that he was leaving another home behind.

          Roger looked at the pitifully small stack of items on the dash.  Everything in the world Riggs owned was sitting in that pickup truck.  He looked at his partner's pale face, the skin slightly drawn and tight.

          "You okay?"

          "I will be."

          "Let's go home."

          "Yeah."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## December 23

 

          "You want to what?"

          "Go shopping," Riggs repeated.  "If you think I'm gonna sit there Christmas morning and open presents without having some of my own to pass out, you're crazy."

          "But you heard the doctor.  He said you were supposed to rest and go easy."

          "What's easier than walking around a mall?  No one shooting at us, no fights, no one tryin' to run us down…"

          "Jesus, there _was_ brain damage.  Have you been in a mall on the twenty-third of December, lately, detective?"

          "Not for a few years, but—"

          "Come on, it's time for you to get an education."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Okay, so I forgot what it was like out here this close to Christmas," Riggs told his partner as he side stepped just in time to avoid being run down by a gray-haired granny with a shopping cart that looked like something out of _Road Warrior_.

          "Uh-huh.  You about ready?"

          "I better be, I'm fading fast.  We really oughta work the mall one year.  Some of these old ladies could go up on charges.  Felony shop and run… assault with a charged weapon…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The two men wove their way through the crowd, Murtaugh explaining the latest developments in the department while Riggs followed along listening half-heartedly until a display in a sporting goods store caught his attention.

          Riggs stopped, staring at the blond female mannequin.  Dressed in pale blue sweat clothes, she sat on an ottoman in front of a fake fireplace, a smile frozen on her face.

          Murtaugh continued on past several stores before he realized Riggs was missing.  He smiled self-consciously at the people who passed him with barely held-in-check smiles.  After all, he had been talking to himself.  He headed back through the crowd.

          "Hey, what're you doin'?"

          "Huh?"

          "Don't you know people who get separated in here this time of year are never seen again?  I've just been walkin' along talkin' to myself for the last five minutes."

          "Sorry," Riggs said with a small smile.

          "What are you doing?" the older man repeated.

          Riggs looked at the mannequin again, remembering how Vicky liked sweats… great for the beach, she told him.  Blue, that was her color… set off her eyes… the same color as the Pacific on an early summer morning.

          Rika's were like the sky…

          "Nothin'.  Let's get outta here, huh?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## December 24

 

          Riggs and Murtaugh sat quietly on the couch, each sipping on a mug of spiced wine.  Roger watched the younger man, wondering what it would feel like to lose everything… house, mementos, everything… not that Riggs seemed overly attached to material items.  _Still, maybe I ought to give him that gift from the guys early.  Maybe it'll cheer him up_.

          The younger detective had remained quiet and withdrawn over the two days following his release from the hospital.  The doctor had said they could expect it to last for a week or so.  After all, Riggs had nearly died and post-trauma depression wasn't uncommon.  Still, it seemed to Roger that this particular silence had little to do with Martin's near brush with death.

          The two men stared into the dark red liquid, Riggs uncomfortable at the silence that had settled over the room after Trish and Rianne headed off to bed, pleading exhaustion.  They, and Riggs, realized that Roger wanted to talk to his partner… alone.

          Murtaugh groaned his way off the couch and ambled over to the Christmas tree. Reaching under the back boughs, the homicide sergeant extracted a large plain green box with a huge red ribbon from the multi-colored pile.  He returned to the couch, dropped back onto the cushions and held the box, turning it over in his hands several times before he said, "Merry Christmas, Martin."  Riggs studied his partner.  "Go on, take it.  You're supposed to open one gift on Christmas Eve, you know."

          "I'm not of the kids, Roger, but, thanks," he said, slightly confused.  He knew he'd be opening presents from the family early in the morning – if Carrie's excitement was any indication – exchanging them for gifts he had found for each of them during the rush of last minute shopping.

          Roger handed the box over and Riggs set the drink aside to accept it.  He pulled the bow off, setting it aside and letting the heavy bottom of the box drop into his lap.  A new blue and white flannel shirt sat in the open box along with a pair of levis, red tee-shirt, and socks.

          "Everyone in Homicide chipped in," Roger explained.  "They figured it was that or look at you in the same outfit day after day until the insurance company got around to paying you.  They called it a Captain America suit," he chuckled, then grew more serious.  "They're looking forward to having you back.  Gets too quiet," he added softly.

          "Uh, thanks," Riggs finally said.  He reached for the cup of wine, and took a long swallow.  They'd refused to let him out of the hospital to attend the funeral for the six officers who had been killed by Rudd and his men… six good cops… two good women…

          Glad that the lack of light besides those on the Christmas tree hid his embarrassment, Riggs placed the clothes on the coffee table and took the opportunity to brush the back of his hand across his eyes.  "Really, thanks.  I'll tell them when we go back… come up with something…"

          "Make sure you like the shirt.  Rianne picked that out.  Hope it all fits.  We had to guess a little."

          Riggs grinned.

          "Here, you want to split the last of the wine?"

          "Yeah, sure."

          Roger left the younger man sitting uncomfortably on the couch and carried their cups into the kitchen.  "Hey, Riggs?"

          "Yo."

          "Can I ask you something?"  He returned carrying the newly filled mugs and handed one to his partner.

          "Uh, yeah, I guess so."

          "What happened?  I have to tell you, Riggs, you had me pretty scared when you called."

          Riggs tensed; he'd known Roger would ask him about that night sooner or later.  He had been hoping for later.  A cold sheath settled around his heart and a quiver of regret for surviving rolled through him.  "It's a long story."

          "We've got a few minutes.  Can I hear it?"

          Riggs gave him a sidelong glance and drank half the cup down while Roger watched.  "After the attack on the trailer, I took Rika back to her place.  Pieter was waiting for me.  Man, I should have known better, Roger.  I should have known.  There's no excuse.  I fucked up.  I let my own needs get in the way… he… he killed her.  Damn near killed me.  He told me, Rog."

          "That he killed your wife, too?"

          Riggs looked up at the older man.  "You read minds now?"

          "No, you said 'he killed them both' when you called.  Like I told you.  I recognized the tone of your voice… and that look."

          "I don't remember."

          "Not surprised."

          The pair sat in silence for several minutes, Riggs draining the rest of the wine before he spoke again, his voice soft and distant, caught in the webs of faded memories that still flared into brilliant shards of pain.  "When I was a kid, I wasn't much good at anything, except surviving.  When the war started, I joined up, seventeen and ready to see what it was all about," Riggs paused, trying to remember that innocence and failing.  "When I got home everything was out of focus.  I joined the force.  They were taking young guys in narcotics then.  I made it in after a year.  I was on my own again, except for Victoria Lynn, depending and caring for no one, except her…"  He trailed off, collapsing back into the pillows.  Shoving himself into the soft mounds, he sighed and plowed his fingers through his hair.

          "When I met Vicky in 1973, it was like… like I found something, some part of me that I'd been missing or maybe I never had until then, I don't know.  When she died…"  Riggs shook his head, feeling the all too familiar sense of desolation well up in his gut, twisting them into tight black coils.  He dropped his head onto the back of the couch, locking the crook of his elbow over his eyes, tears soaking into the flannel.  Dragging his arm across his eyes Riggs looked at the older man.

          "It was hard, but I finally made my peace, or at least I thought I had.  But when Pieter told me—"  His voice caught.  "When he told me she died slow, I lost it. I could feel something inside me snap.  All I wanted to do was live long enough to kill the bastard.  They tossed me off the pier… Rika…"  He trailed off, brushing at the tears that forced their way down his face.

          "Marty—"

          "I got her killed.  I got both of them killed.  They tied Rika to the pier so I couldn't miss her.  They drowned her because I got her involved.  Damn it, I should've known.  I should've seen it coming.  I was so damn happy I didn't even hear them.  There was a moment when I thought about just opening my mouth and…"  Riggs nearly leaped off the couch.  "Ah, look, I gotta get some air."

          Murtaugh scrambled to his feet, and just heading the dark-haired detective off at the front door.  "Whoa, hold up a minute, partner.  I'm not letting you out on the streets like this."

          "I don't need a goddamn babysitter," he half-growled.

          "I know, I know, but I'm a police officer and I can't let someone I know is legally intoxicated on the streets, now can I?"

          Riggs knew his partner was searching for any excuse to keep him there.  He didn't know where he wanted to go, or what he was going to do, but the confusion and pain drove him on.

          Murtaugh watched pale blue eyes, swimming in a pain that was as tangible to the black man as it was to Riggs himself.  The thought that any bullet could end that pain crowded in on the older detective.  He hoped Martin had put that all behind him, but now he wasn't so sure.

          "Look, I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it, man, but I wanna be alone."

          "No, you don't," Roger snapped, hoping he was doing the right thing.  "You want to be alone?  You startin' to think about putting a goddamn bullet in your skull, again?  Tell me I'm wrong, Riggs, and I'll leave you alone."

          Riggs stared stonily at the door.  He hadn't realized the thoughts of self-destruction were moving again, but now that he heard it, he knew it was true.  He'd been afraid to admit it.

          Murtaugh sensed the slight hesitation and pressed.  "You're not alone any more, you know.  How the hell would I explain that to Rianne?  To Trish and the kids?  How the hell am I supposed to explain it to myself?"

          "Look, you and your family mean a lot to me, but you don't understand!"  Riggs caught himself and pulled his voice down to a rough whisper.  "First Victoria Lynn, then six good cops and Rika.  Who's next?  You?  One of the kids?  I need some time to think."

          "What about the job, man?  What about doin' the job?"

          Riggs closed his eyes.  "Roger, please."

          "You're asking me to let you walk out of here and maybe die, and I ain't gonna do it.  Was the fight on the ship for nothing?  Was my hanging in there at the hospital for nothing?"

          Riggs slapped a dark angry look on his partner.  "You gonna stop me?"  It was a low growl, barely understandable and Roger shivered involuntarily.

          "If I have to."

          "Be careful.  You're walkin' a tightrope and I can't always control the wind."  Riggs reached for the doorknob, Roger grabbing the sleeve of his shirt at the shoulder.  Riggs jerked away, his arm coming up defensively, his voice a hiss.  "Get out of my way."

          Roger pulled his hand away, desperation rising.  Anything short of cold-cocking his partner seemed destined to fail.  Riggs made a second move for the door and Murtaugh intervened, this time gripping both of the younger man's shoulders.  "Damn it, Marty, I care about you, and I thought you cared about us."

          Riggs felt his reflexes take over and he watched in horror as his knee punched up into Murtaugh's abdomen.  The black man doubled forward, gasping.  Riggs stepped past him and took three angry strides down the sidewalk before he could stop himself.  He heard Roger gasp and moan.

          The trembling in Riggs' arms and legs made the walk back to the open door difficult.  The older detective sat on the floor, leaning against the wall just inside of the door.  He glared up at Martin when he entered.

          "You wanna die that bad?" Roger sneered.  "Go ahead.  Why don't you take back that bullet you had before.  It's sittin' in the phone stand.  In fact, why the hell don't you do it out there in your truck.  It'll save me a drive to identify the body."  Riggs stood, leaning against the open door frame, watching as Murtaugh climbed slowly to his feet and started off.  "I'm goin' to bed."

          "Roger," Riggs said, the pleading tone the only thing that stopped the older man before he started up the stairs.  He turned and shivered at the naked look of pain on Riggs' face.  The younger man stepped closer.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't— I wouldn't— I _don't_ want to die, damn it!"

          Martin's head dropped, his chin nearly touching his chest.  The utter defeat that dripped off his shoulders drew Roger closer.  "I'm fucked, Roger."

          Murtaugh reached out and carefully placed one hand on top of his partner's quaking shoulders.  Riggs drew his head up with what looked like Herculean effort.  Tears shined but remained unshed in the pain-filled blue eyes.  "It just hurts… so much… sometimes."  His throat constricted, cutting off his words, and try as he might, he could no longer hold back the pain and grief that engulfed him in its tumult.

          Roger watched the dam break, and tugging slightly, urged Riggs toward the stairs.  Martin's legs shook as Roger guided him around and lowered him down onto the bottom step with a hand on his arm.  Murtaugh paused, then joined his partner on the step.  Riggs buried his face in his arms and let the grief and loneliness wash out of him with the tears.

          "They were good women.  Good cops."

          Roger reached out and rested a reassuring hand on the back of the younger man's neck, hoping Riggs' would read the support the gesture carried.  Murtaugh ground his jaws in frustration, wishing he knew some words that could help the young detective.  He had felt the pain of loss when the officers he knew and trusted were killed.  And, if Trish or one of the kids were ever killed, no words, even from friends, would erase the void.  He felt helpless, and not knowing what else to do or say, Roger merely sat and waited for the emotional storm to pass.

          Time was lost as the two men sat together.  Eventually Riggs regained enough control to reach up and tried to dry his face on the sleeve of his shirt.  Roger left his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

          "Riggs, listen to me," he said softly.  "You're carrying more hurt and guilt inside than you can or should."

          "I ain't sittin' in that shrink's chair if that's what you're buildin' up to," Riggs said flatly.

          "Okay, but don't hold it in, Martin.  Don't let it eat away at you like before.  I don't want to lose the best damn partner I ever had."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Riggs sat, feeling the intense pain and desperation slip away as it had so many nights before.  He felt it slipping back into the corners of his mind and soul, but it wasn't as hidden as it was before.  He could look at it now.  Look and see it for what it was.  And now, maybe he could learn to live with it as well.

          "Let go of the grief and the guilt.  You won't give up the love.  That's always gonna be there.  They were both special ladies," Roger reassured him.

          "They were," Riggs whispered, afraid anything else would trigger the tears again.

          "You gonna make it?"

          Riggs shrugged, then nodded.  "It's just sometimes I miss Vicky so much, you know?  It's like I gotta drag myself out of my skin to get away, but I can't.  It crawls up in my throat and I can't breathe… my chest feels like I took a hit from an eighteen wheeler… Rika was the first, since— She— The only thing I could do was turn to the job, doin' the job, I used that night after night after Vicky died to keep me going.  I needed something more.  But I didn't do the job right, Rog.  I fucked up.  I got her killed."

          "You think Rudd would've left her alive if we hadn't come along?  No way, partner.  He couldn't afford any possible leaks."

          "She still died.  If I had been thinking like I should have, instead of acting like a damned teenager I would have taken her into protective custody.  I just should've realized what was goin' on."

          "Marty, you can't live your life with the 'what if's.'"

          "It was like losing Vicky all over again.  Can you understand that?"

          "Yeah, I think I do."

          "But listen.  I don't want to die.  Not anymore.  Maybe it crossed my mind when I saw Rika, but… I couldn't do it, man.  Not now.  I swear."

          "I know.  I do.  And, I honestly don't know if I could say the same, if it was me.  Just don't you forget you got something else now, kid."

          "What?"

          "Us – me, Trish, the kids.  You're part of a family.  Like it or not, you're an honorary Murtaugh – and let me tell you, my old man would turn over in his grave if he knew I let a honky in the family."

          Riggs couldn't stop the grin the words evoked.  Roger chuckled and Riggs heard himself join in.  _Maybe it would get better_ , he thought.  _I am home again for Christmas._ He reached up and gripped Roger's arm. _I'll always love Victoria Lynn… Rika… but I have to let them go, too.  Someday.  Someday I'll see them again, but right now I have to be here… for Roger… and for me_.

          "Hey, what would he say about his granddaughter dating an older honky boy?  She looked real nice tonight in that party dress."

          Roger grinned in the still darkness, feeling the tension drain out of Riggs' shoulders.  "So long as it ain't you, you won't have to worry about it."

          "Thanks, Roger," he said, feigning hurt feelings and then adding with sincerity, "really."

          "It's okay, partner.  Anytime."

          Riggs nodded as the pair helped pull each other up off the steps.  Roger patting his partner on the back, the younger man returning the hug with equal emotion.

          "Come on, if you can convince Burbank to share, there's a bed up there waiting for you."

          "I don't think it's the cat I'm gonna have to worry about," Riggs said when they reached the room.  Looking over Riggs' shoulder Roger could see Sam stretched out on the twin bed, his head on the pillow and his tail thumping softly on the blankets.  Burbank was draped over the foot of the bed, eyeing the dog intently.

          "Great," the older detective sighed, "Well, they say the more the merrier.  Good luck."

          "Gee, thanks, Roger."

          "Get some sleep.  It's gonna be an early morning."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Riggs rolled Sam over and climbed beneath the covers, waiting until the dog grunted himself into a comfortable position lying next to his master before he turned out the light.  Burbank kneaded the blanket into a suitable resting place just below Martin's feet.  The detective grinned.  He was effectively locked into place.  Closing his eyes he silently said his thanks for good friends and drifted off to sleep.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A heavy fog rolled off the Pacific, obscuring the falling waves.  Riggs walked along the beach, Sam running ahead, disappearing in and out of thicker patches.  The detective thought he could see a light not far off and turned to try and locate it.

          Stumbling through the ever-thickening fog, he finally located the source of the light.  A small Christmas tree sat in the sand, the multi-colored lights blinking on and off in random patterns.  Three brightly wrapped gifts sat on the sand.  He could hear Sam barking happily in the distance.  A light mist began to fall.

          Riggs walked carefully around the tree.  Sam emerged from the gray, sniffed curiously at the packages and bounded away.  Martin started after him.  "Hey, mutt!"

          "He'll be fine."

          The voice locked him in place.  It took all his willpower to force himself to turn and face the source.  Victoria Lynn.

          "Vicky?"

          "Merry Christmas, Marty."

          "How?  Where?  Why—"

          "Always the detective.  Ah, but that's what I love about you."  She walked over to the tree and knelt in the sand.  "Well, are you going to sit down, or just stand there all night?"

          Riggs walked over and sat down near her, fighting back the desire to grab her up into a hug.  Somehow he knew that wouldn't be possible.  "God, it's good to see you."

          "I know."

          "Why now?  Why not before?  I— I…"

          "I couldn't.  I don't even know if I can explain.  I'm here now."  She reached out and picked up one the boxes and handed it to him.  He took it.  "Open it, Marty."

          He pulled the paper off and opened the lid.  He couldn't see anything inside, just a swirling mass of silver, reflection the blinking lights of the tree.  He reached in and felt a warmth settle over him, realizing and filled him with love.  "What?"

          "Forgiveness, Martin."

          He looked up and watched Rika sit down next to Victoria Lynn.  They smiled at each other.  "I don't understand."

          "You feel responsible for my death," Rika said.

          "And mine," Victoria Lynn added.

          "We're forgiving you, so you can forgive yourself."

          "It wasn't your fault, Marty," his wife said.

          Riggs felt the tears fill his eyes and tumble across his cheeks but he did nothing to hide them.  He slowly pulled his hand out of the box only to find that he held two rose buds, one red and one yellow.

          "You're not mad at me?" he asked Victoria Lynn.

          She smiled.  "Mad?  Why?"

          "That I was weak.  That I— That I wanted to die.  That I— Rika— Roger…"

          They two women giggled softly.  "First off, Martin Riggs, I'm not mad about Rika. She's a beautiful soul.  And you better allow yourself to love again, too.  You need that.  Don't be afraid.  As for the other…  I missed you, too.  For a while I wanted you to come to me, but I realized that it wasn't right, not yet.  You still have so much to do.  I love Roger and his family for what they are to you, Marty.  And, I love you.  I always will."

          "Me, too," Rika added.  The two women reached out and held hands.

          "Thank you," he said, his voice choked tight.

          "Open the other two boxes.  Hurry.  We can't stay long," Victoria Lynn told him.  "They're our gifts to you."

          Martin took the two remaining gifts and opened them.  Looking in the first he saw through the same swirling silver his meeting Rika in the supermarket and their night together.  The beauty and joy of their time together pushed back the darker memories of her death.  He smiled at her and nodded his thanks, unable to find words.

          Sam walked up to join them and Victoria Lynn reached out to scratch behind his ears while Riggs opened the last gift.  Like Rika's, the inside of the box was a swirl of silver, and reflected light.  He reached in.

          Fear.  He was in Victoria Lynn's mind.  The accident was happening…   _Marty? Where are you?_   Pain, sharp, then nothing.  Blackness… falling… the brightness of the flames, but there was no pain.  He felt her floating above it all, watching, detached, at peace.  Pieter had lied.

          He followed her, saw himself at work… at the restaurant… the trailer.  The call came… the morgue… her longing to stay… her love.  Then he felt the tug.  She moved away from him, through darkness, toward the light.  He felt the love.

          Riggs blinked.  Victoria Lynn patted Sam's head one last time.  "You needed to know," she said simply.

          Riggs nodded.  "I love you, Victoria Lynn."

          "I love you, too.  I'm here, Marty.  I'll wait.  Be good to yourself."

          The fog began to close in on them, swirling through the boughs of the trees, obscuring their faces.  Riggs stood.  "Vicky?  Rika?  Wait."

          "We can't, Marty.  We're here.  Merry Christmas."

          The fog closed over them and he knew they were gone.  Sam whined and pressed against his leg.  Riggs let his hand stroke the dog's head.  "It's okay, boy.  They're fine… and so are we."

          Riggs turned and started back down the beach.  As he continued on the fog slowly cleared until he stood in a clear black night, the stars shining overhead, reflecting off the still ocean water.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

## December 25

 

          Roger pulled his second house-slipper on, hoping he had them on the right feet. He had lain in bed, listening to Rianne and Nick trying to keep Carrie corralled, until he finally acknowledged it was a losing battle.

          Trish was already gone – probably downstairs getting breakfast ready.  Coffee.  _That's what I need_ , he thought.  _Hot, strong, coffee.  At least she can make coffee_.

          He shoved off the bed and staggered to he door.  The sound of running feet halted him in the doorway.  The next sound woke him up.

          "Arughh!"

          "Riggs?"

          A muffled cry echoed from his partner's room.  Roger blinked and watched Rianne and Nick flee down the stairs.

          "Martin?" he called again, stalking toward the half-open door.

          Pushing the door back the rest of the way, Murtaugh swallowed hard to keep from laughing.  Martin was effectively buried under Carrie, who straddled his chest; Sam, who lay across the detective's legs; and Burbank, who was hunched up above his partner's head, taking paw swipes at the bobbing strands of disheveled hair.

          Carrie bounced.  "Come on, Martin.  Get up.  It's time to see what Santa brought you."

          Riggs smiled at the little girl, then looked past her to Roger.  "Okay, okay, I surrender.  I'll be down in a minute.  Soon as I get dressed, okay?"

          "Yay!" she cheered.  Riggs hefted her and swung her over the side of the bed where she raced past Roger, closely followed by the dog and cat.  "Hurry up, Daddy," she said on the way out.

          Roger shook his head.  "You okay?" he asked, a little concerned with the way she had been bouncing on his partner's chest.

          "Fine," Riggs said, sitting up and reaching for the borrowed thick terrycloth rode.  Wrapping it around him Riggs locked an accusing glare on Murtaugh.  "Sure took you long enough to get in here."

          "Uh?"

          "I could've been mutt meat before you got here."

          "That's my little commando."

          "Tell me about it," Riggs said under his breath.

          "We better get down there before the rest of the army comes lookin' for us."

          Riggs nodded.  "Merry Christmas, Rog."

          The detective wrapped his arm around the younger man's shoulders and they headed for the door.  "You doing better today?  Ready to see what Santa gotcha?"

          Riggs looked at his partner.  "Santa gave me my presents last night.  In more ways than one."

 The End


End file.
